Forget the treasures that burned, we'll be just fine
by munchkinjenny05
Summary: Sequel/companion piece to my other Dynasty x Imogen story 'Passive Me, Aggressive You' that I had to write because, whilst the existing storyline is good, gay girl goggles and occasional reaches into AU are better. Presenting what could (and should) be the evolution of their relationship...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I wanted Imogen to be my storyteller for this companion piece not only since I felt like Dynasty's headspace had been thoroughly explored in **_**'Passive Me, Aggressive You' **_**(although that was a big part of the reason) but because I also feel like she is always going to be more the more complex and guarded with her heart out of the two girls. To my mind, all her experiences would mean that Imogen is the doubter, the hesitant one, feeling that she has more to lose in every sense by submitting to the romantic evolution of this friendship. **

**That said, this is my slant on everything that has (and should have) happened on the show, starting with episode 14. I like to right wrongs of cannon and play with the degrees of AU, so there will be plenty more to come as the storyline progresses. **

You watch all morning for them to emerge, bruises which are the exact size and shape of his fingertips, but they don't. Somehow that makes it worse, knowing that there is a ticking time bomb under her skin. It makes you afraid because there is so much you don't know and the things you have seen aren't exactly comforting, are they? Barry is relentless, chipping away, over and over again, so different from Christine's explosive flare-ups or your temper for that matter. It's a miracle that Dynasty has any shine left. You haven't known her long, that's true, but you're close, more so than you've been to any of the other girls in your year. She's different; you've witnessed that first hand. You've told yourself repeatedly that she is a Barry in name only, ignored the whispers and judgement.

You don't want to see her like this therefore, dark and raging, so much like him, like her mother. It doesn't help that all your immediate efforts to calm her fall flat. She pushes you away roughly, more than once and even though you know her reasoning, you cringe all the same. She doesn't respond to any of the tactics that would soothe anyone else. (She is indeed different, you were correct about that.) When the minutes become like hours, you eject all sound from your world, but the guilt at doing so, not listening and letting her vent, is pressing. It forces you to relent. "Let's go to class." You say finally. Poetry feels like it could be the perfect escape. Later, when she smiles at you from across the spine of the paperback, not for the first time, you release a breath that you weren't aware you had been holding.

Gradually, the day gets easier. You nearly forget the altercation all together, praising the segregation of the PRU as lesson plans and homework piles on top of both of you. Amidst the distraction, Dynasty is quieter, but she doesn't tell you to shut up when you crack lame jokes in the canteen and she's helping you study without any protest. "I could finish that, if you want?" She is nodding at your unfinished essay. However, it's an unorthodox apology that you can't accept. Mr Budgen would know in a heartbeat. You bite your lip and reluctantly say no. "Worried it'd sound too smart for you, eh?" she adds cheekily.

"Something like that." You murmur.

"I could always dumb it down." She smirks. "You know, lift some stuff off Wikipedia."

"Hey, that was one time!" You complain, but you're both laughing.

The clock ticks on. It's so silent that you think your batteries might need replacing. Though as you lean in closer you're able to catch the rasp of the nail file and you dismiss the thought. She is simply choosing not to engage you and you contemplate asking some questions, about what happened and her scary family dynamic, but reluctantly your eyes swing downwards towards your looming deadline again. After a while, since the other girl has clearly finished (and in all honesty she's probably ahead on her assignments anyway) you start wondering if you can get some help after all. You open your mouth, about to speak, and catch the whisper. "He hates me." It knocks all the air out of you.

"Barry, I'm sure he's just..." The appropriate adjective fails you and you trail off, sure that she won't respond well to the one currently on your tongue.

She blinks, apparently having momentarily forgotten you are there. "Yeah, him too."

**...**

You don't see Dynasty for several days, don't see anyone in fact. It was what you desired when you locked yourself away. After what Connor said, there was no room for anything but your own pain. You needed to process the devastation, still do, but you've reached the limit of your mother's compassion (maybe if you told her the truth she'd let you stay away from school longer, yet you can't bear to say the words aloud). The reality is that even now you're back; you don't want to cross paths with the curious blonde. Of course you know that rationally it isn't her fault, but your mind screams that she pushed you into confronting Connor, your best friend opened these channels and there's so much rage and hurt, that you're scared of what you'll do if you're prompted to let it out.

In the end, hunger becomes the catalyst, driving you out despite the canteen not being big enough to hide in. You begin to think that maybe you've finally earned some luck, because she hasn't seen you and she isn't likely to, since she's too busy with that brother of hers. The relief quickly dissipates though. It's obvious that they are squaring up, and so you put aside your own misery for a second, overwhelmed with concern as your legs carry you over.

You don't hear what provokes it, only her retort. Sarcasm and distain drips from every syllable. "You're such a catch, Baz; I'll bet she's totally gutted that she let you go." You have no idea who the mystery girl is, only that the mention makes him grit his teeth. He slaps his sister, hard enough for Dynasty to rock backwards in her seat. The sound carries and the whole room releases a collective gasp in time with yours. As you watch, you realise that the one girl who shouldn't be, is eerily calm. She stares at him, dark eyed and furious, and for a second time you inhale nervously. "Tell me again that she was never terrified of you." She replies without a trace of smugness, up from her seat before any teachers have even considered reacting.

He calls after her. "Only if you tell me that you didn't take full advantage of it!" You anticipate Dynasty turning on her heels and flying at him. She doesn't. Wide eyed, you trail her because nobody else has moved.

You find her in the bathroom pressing a cold soaked paper towel against her cheek. She doesn't flinch at the sound of the door when you enter. You're stunned but you try not to show it. "Does it hurt?" You feel stupid for asking but there is no other clue. She hasn't cried (nobody is that skilled, or speedy, with concealer) and you know she won't offer you anything first.

"What do you think?"

"Sorry." You hope that it will encompass many things. Suddenly you need her to forgive you for not being there during this escalation. Suddenly you feel as if you might start sobbing yourself, the hot frustrated tears that you've grown so accustomed to lately.

She only shrugs, but it's a start. "Where have you been?"

You dismiss her question for a more urgent one of your own. "Has this happened before?"

The other girl sighs. "I asked you first." You're totally unprepared to have this conversation, which strikes you as ironic since you have thought of nothing else for 6 whole days. Your eyes burn. "Let me guess, Connor." You nod and some tears ruefully escape your lashes. Dynasty passes you a clump of paper towels. You don't look at her.

"Your turn."

"Yeah it has, so what?" You expected the antagonism and don't rise to it. Instead you think back to what she said before.

"Just your brother or..."

"You've met my mother, you figure it out." She snaps back before quickly recovering and going back to neutral. "She had good reason anyway."

You force a sentence past speechless lips. "How could you possibly-"

"Just leave it; you don't know the half of it." It's clear she doesn't want you too. She pauses, collecting herself yet again. "Can't you just be my friend and have my back, I'm going to face enough questions as soon as I step out there." You don't bother arguing that. It's a miracle that one of the teachers hasn't already stormed in.

"I suppose." You both exchange small smiles and pretend that you don't see how false they are.

**...**

You don't bite your tongue for long, because how can you? Lies aren't sleeping dogs, they're much more dangerous. You view them as a man-eating tiger. It's too late for you, but maybe you can save your best friend from the fate Connor dealt you. You give her until the end of school.

"Tell me." It isn't a request. Dynasty is touching up mascara that is already perfect, well it was, until your question ruins that. She freezes. You don't. "Everything. You may have everybody else fooled, but I don't believe this war is just about refusing to visit your dad."

"That day it was, on the surface at least, but you're right, it's more than that. To cut a long story short, Barry is pissed because I took something of his."

You raise an eyebrow. "So he's sulking because you stole his pocket money." You might be an only child, but it seems to you that the punishment doesn't fit the crime.

There is amusement in her voice that doesn't quite reach her expression, it says grim. "Not exactly, try a girl, his girlfriend."

"Oh." You're floored, stranded with a brain that can't catch up to your mouth. "So you're...but you're so..."

"It's 2013 Imogen; I can be gay and still go on dates wearing dresses. There isn't a contract with a plaid wearing, rugby playing clause."

"God, I know, I'm sorry, it's just..." You pause, blushing madly, riding out her infuriatingly smug smirk from behind the curtain of your hair.

"Forget it; I'm just messing with you."

You chew on for bottom lip for a moment. "Did you love her?" It's none of your business, but you're on a roll, this is the most personal information you've ever gotten out of Dynasty Barry. For a girl so loud, she doesn't really say much of anything, not that's real anyway.

Nonetheless, in the style of every clichéd dramatic scene ever, you don't get your answer then. A girl that you vaguely recognise from the year below chooses that moment to barge into the bathroom and you know the chance is lost. The blonde turns back to the mirror and fixes her damaged make-up in record time. You wait until she caps the tube and catch her wrist, sure that if you don't, she'll run. You don't mind that, but only so long as she's escaping with you. Therefore, you don't hesitate to lead her out of school and towards your house, racing the final bell. She's supposed to be meeting Budgen, and trouble will find her tomorrow, but you don't care. You won't wait, in your mind there is only now, and some conversations cannot be left unfinished.

Footsteps are punctuated by breaths that resemble sobs (yours) and resigned sighs (hers), making you glad that the walk is short and the awkwardness won't be delayed. Your mind races, were all the stalls empty? The last thing the other girl needs on top of everything else is to be at the mercy of the rumour mill. "Nice place." She murmurs once you've freed the key of the lock and stepped inside. You don't smile. Compliments are the only thing she's free with, and that isn't what you need. On the other hand, you don't protest when she heads straight to the kitchen and puts the kettle on without another word. You understand, ideally you need a moment yourself as well (possibly more than she does). It only begins to grate when the silence stretches out again. You begin to wonder if this was a wasted effort, studying her blank face as she stirs the sugar in. Inspiration, or be it desperation strikes. You begin your own story. The telling isn't chronological, pouring out of you in an endless rambling loop. You keep coming back to Connor's revelation, in circles like that spoon. It seems impossible that a week pass in a moment and a lifetime simultaneously. You don't leave out a single detail, from Mrs Mulgrew, to the first fire discovered and everything afterwards and in between. Every plea, every kiss, every tear. You convince yourself that you're sharing so that she will do the same, but really, the reality is that you were bursting and couldn't hold it in.

You find yourself grateful that the tears don't fall until the end because nonsensical as your speech may have been, it wasn't fractured, and you doubt that you could deliver this more than once. You almost smile, because in that sense you saved it for her as even your mom doesn't know. Dynasty holds you, and you let her. There is nothing empty about this comfort, practically wordless or otherwise.

**...**

You don't remember falling asleep, only that it took a long time, and much coaxing, for the weight of everything to leave your bones. It was grey when your eyes closed, but during that interval the sky has transformed into inky black. Full darkness comes so early at this time of year, a fact that doesn't help you disorientation. You sense rather than see (your eyelids still feel heavy), the girl at your side and you don't want to ask how long you've been unconscious (the answer might be scary), so instead you mumble, "We were supposed to be talking about you."

"I'm fine." You have no idea how she keeps finding the strength to say these things, as it's evident you're never taken in by the half truths. How is everybody else so easily swayed by her act, you think, unless they walk around with their eyes half closed every day?

"If that's the case, then what are you still doing here."

The blonde is flippant. "I don't like to leave without saying goodbye." She twists a strand of hair around her finger, surprisingly free from her usual ponytail. It looks beautiful down, with the curls catching the shallow pool of light from your desk lamp, but you decide to hide that compliment for the time being. If you distract her, she'll never talk.

"You're a crap liar."

Her pupils ignite with your challenge, and the sole aim proving you wrong. You count to three, but halfway there, rather than words you receive another of her smirks. "Aren't you glad I try?" she provokes.

"The jury's still out on that one." You don't want to echo the gesture, feeling grumpy because of the imbalance of secrets and more than a little anxious as a result of everything you've shared, but you can't help it. Dynasty is infectious.

"So ask me how you look, we'll test the theory." It's the first time that you consider the state you are in, the possibility of pillow creases or dusty eyes, and it leaves you running your fingers through your hair self consciously. "The answer is, Imogen, you look stunning." You catch her eye, your cheeks colouring before her own freshly washed face captures your attention. You've never seen her without layers of fastidiously applied makeup, her armour. You've never realised that you wanted to. She looks exposed like this, almost delicate under your stare. The words 'fragile, handle with care', spring to mind and won't leave you. "True or false?" She blurts, causing you to lose the flimsy thread of your thoughts.

She's just Dynasty again. Why is it that you feel a wistful twinge for the version you just glimpsed, a girl you'll probably never know, is it because of the possibility that she's lost and lonely like you or something else entirely? Your best friend is expectant, so you clear your throat and declare her a liar, despite the sincerity you heard. It's easier that way, letting the moments descend into harmless banter. She shakes her head and tells you to turn your hearing aid up next time, and you call her a cow and punch her lightly on the arm. It's safer ground, a little island of normality for the two of you to exist on for a while.

It lasts until her phone beeps. Her face falls, leaving you in no doubt who is trying to contact her. You expect her to race away, leaving you in the dark (literally and figuratively) until another day, but she surprises you by turning it off. "Is it too late?" You know she doesn't mean the hour and you shake your head firmly, no. She needs to purge herself of this, just as much as you did. Maybe more, you don't actually have much notion of how long she's held her secrets in.

"I'm not tired." You reply, squeezing her hand gently, hoping that she isn't either. "Start at the beginning." She does as instructed, her narrative a lot more coherent than yours. It takes every bit of your self control not to interrupt at points, particularly when she paints a vivid picture of Lacey, lavishing details on her like she walked out of a fairytale. You can feel the love there, and it makes your chest ache. Somehow though, you do her the same courtesy she paid you. When she reaches her climax, you wince, picturing Mrs Barry dragging the girl from the house by her hair as though it's unfolding in front of you. She wouldn't do that to you, you're only friends, but a large piece of you isn't so certain that you'd ever want to test her limits. The final things you've pieced together yourself, the dancing job, her brother's bullying, but since she's willing, you clutch them like new treasures. "Thanks for trusting me." It feels vaguely redundant, but you absolutely feel like the steps she's taken need to be acknowledged somehow, even if you are woefully inadequate in the task.

Dynasty doesn't share your pessimism, of course, thrilled as ever by something so simple. She appreciates that you even care. "No thank you. Thanks for everything. I don't think brilliant is a strong enough word for you anymore."

You don't know what to say. Your eyes blur with flesh tears. "Will you stay over?" You aren't hopeful; she's already scraping her hair back, halfway gone.

"Better not, I should get home; I'm probably in enough trouble already," she holds up her phone "for _this _and skipping out on my mentor earlier." One final smirk. "Not that I regret any of it, obviously."

You shoot her the first genuine grin for days. "Me either."

"There is one final little thing though." You encourage her and she clears her throat. "I cheated earlier. I know I was supposed to, but I didn't lie. You really do look stunning." Your bedroom door is already closing, not giving the chance to properly counter. You can't find the right words and your heart begins to sink, only to revive when she calls back up the stairs. "Hey, you should fall asleep more often, Mulgrew's class for instance." The laughter comes easily, filling the space she has left at your side.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: It took me a long time to tackle the end of this chapter because I was so angry after watching episode 16 that I couldn't bear to watch it again until yesterday (don't get me started on how they've martyred Connor because grrr I could rant for days) so I hope it doesn't suck. I'm not sure I'm convinced, I should probably call this update 'Imogen and her 1000s of emotional u-turns' but I wanted to get it up before cannon shits all over me again in tonight's episode. On the plus side, based on the spoilers I've heard, things might get easier for me from a writing perspective, because it sounds like it'll be AU all the way.**

**Obviously, I don't own the dialogue I borrowed from the show and all credit goes to appropriate people.**

For obvious reasons, you don't nap during Christine's class, but you can't deny that you're tempted. In fact, you would sleep through the whole school day if you could. Dynasty apparently senses this (she wouldn't have to be a genius, and you are easily convinced that she is) and tries to nudge you along with a wink and a grin. It isn't healthy to be so anchored in her, especially after the lessons you should have learned, but you feel strangely unrepentant. Everybody needs a friend and more than that, selfish as it might sound, steering her through the daily minefield she's made (the family feud shows no sign of dying off, even though you'd have bet your life if asked yesterday, that Barry's violent outburst would have gotten him expelled) goes a long way towards stopping you from considering the mess your own life is in.

Still, Connor ruins everything again without trying. He hurts you just by being back, arriving at school like nothing has happened, with murmured apologies about being late that are accepted although the morning is half over. It would be bad enough, you expect your heart to crumble like dust with every breath he takes or every pointed stare that is aimed anywhere but where you are, but those agonising strikes aren't the end. There is more in store for you. Dynasty makes sure of that as your fingers unwittingly bite into her palm. (You can't help it, the door opens and your entire body tries to leap into the air. You need grounding or you'll float away) maybe you shouldn't have sought her anchorage, but you have, and she takes the job seriously. "I'll kill him." The blonde doesn't even bother to whisper. The parallels as she flies at him and almost topples his desk aren't lost on you, and in another universe you might smirk, but you don't because there is so much more at stake than a boob job. The girl is like a hurricane, and it takes two of the strongest boys around to pull her off. Even then, they struggle to keep her from arms length, and she thrashes against them, unrelenting. Connor doesn't make a sound, but you doubt it would matter if he did. Dynasty is ignorant to the teacher's input as well. The words they yell out like '_Cooler' _and '_Mr Byrne's office', _even the worst, '_suspension', _bounce off her unheard. You know why, and it isn't her lies about the Barry family losing respect if they don't carry out their threats. She has made it clear a thousand times that she doesn't care about her family's reputation beyond keeping her brother out of prison for Kacey's sake (and praying that her sister is still young enough to escape the brainwashing now that they'd made it somewhere new). You know there's only one thing she cares about and therefore only one thing that can stop her.

You have to voice it. "Please." Of course she freezes, and in an instant her arms are wrapped around you instead, fists unfurling to rub comforting circles on your back.

Later when you attempt to push errant strands of hair behind your ear, you discover they are clumped together. You wish blindly that its nail polish, but you aren't that foolish. The best you can hope for is that it's her blood, from scraped knuckles or something, because you don't want any part of _him_ touching you ever again, but on the other you don't want her to have haemorrhaged for you either. That isn't right, the line still hasn't been drawn, and stubbornly (maybe you have more in common with a Barry than you first thought) lessons haven't been learnt. Both your eyes linger on Connor for a breath too long, and in actuality your reasons are probably more damaging than hers. At least she is sure what she wants with him, the same can't be said of you.

"So?" You begin, satisfied that enough time has passed for her to calm down but refusing to ask a question in full that you already have an answer to, all the same.

"I had to do something." You hate the implication; it's in her eyes and behind her words, which is that you weren't _ever _going to. You aren't helpless and you do have a plan, it's just that you haven't shared it yet. You decide that now is the perfect time. You lay it all out, everything you've done, ignoring how surplus to requirements it will undoubtedly make Dynasty feel. You are surprised that she listens so avidly, only interrupting when you get to the assembly that's planned for the end of the day, and then, mostly to scoff again at how little an apology will fix. She isn't wrong, but you don't admit that because you _need_ your idea to work. You just want it all to stop, and left are looking for a way out that's as harmless as possible for everybody concerned. This is probably as close as you can get. You know its miles from being ideal and thus one person's scepticism is enough without all your buried doubts joining in.

**...**

During Connor's speech, when you don't sit with her you let yourself latch onto the notion that it's simply because you'd rather do without the running commentary. Whilst it goes without saying that Dynasty's astuteness, her in-built bullshit detector, won't help your mindset, your hesitance runs deeper than that. To cut a long story short, you can't forgive her for the attempted sabotage. She warned you off the brownies and that whisper makes it worse somehow, cutting through your delusion like a knife. You can't pretend that she isn't involved, even without the words her eyes offer a clear admission of guilt when they collide with yours. For the first time, you think that maybe you should have paid attention to all the warnings about the girl and her family. There have been many uncertainties over the last few days (and weeks and months), but in ways you cannot measure, this one feels the most unpleasant of all. It lingers, mixing with your hatred of her hypocrisy until you can't gulp it down or push it aside. The blonde denounces her brother one moment and yet is complicit in his scheme the next. She doesn't seem to care that if she carries on standing beside him, rather than hurting Connor, Dynasty will be the one who suffers. You don't want to picture her without a single ally, but you can't bear to offer your hand either. Everything is changing and not for the better.

It doesn't help that your misgivings have tripled before the boy has even made it to the podium. It would help if you had the comfort of your best friend at your side, but that isn't an option and that alone would be enough to make you cry even before Connor has cleared his throat. The gulf of empty space feels lonelier when you can't bring yourself to look away from where her chair should be, yet the alternative, your eyes landing on the boy's face feels worse still. "There's that old saying, I think, that goes, you only hurt the people and the things that are closest to you, that you love." You finally stare at him because you cannot bear to crane your neck and look backwards to find Dynasty. You don't want to excuse her. You aren't ready to.

Instead you go to him. Some things, some necessary courses of action, you can be unwavering about. "I'm proud of what you did, but there is no us. The scars on my face might heal, but not on my heart." You follow it up with sorry of your own, but not because you regret a single word. You only give it as a means to counteract your bluntness, in repayment for cutting through his fragile optimism. There have been too many misunderstandings and you can't take anymore. In the same vein, you say your goodbyes to Connor at the window, silent and unspoken. It's a necessary evil, and something you must do, nevertheless the last thing you want is to feed into his false hope again. It's better if he doesn't see you. You wonder if you are at last willing to let him go for the final time, after all, you thought you'd done that before on the day that you removed your scarf. You call for genuine acceptance to arrive now. This tug of war has to be over.

**...**

You've scarcely turned from your vantage point (although the police car is long gone) yet you are too tired to jump out of your skin when you realise you aren't alone anymore. As you sigh, you breathe in her scent. You expect to cough on the cloying sweetness, swat away the loose strands that tickle as she stands impossibly close, you do neither. Blinking seems like too great of an effort. It's as though you've become your reflection. Is this the sum total of your existence now, being worn down by the two opposing people in your life? You know that you should probably banish them both, take the red flag that the girl has flown in your face and use it to prompt a clean break, but you've committed yourself to one separation today. To even contemplate another leaves you aching. You'd rather take your chances on the other side of that glass, plummeting. Ultimately you shake your head. _No. _You are done.

"I understand, you know. Her number was the first I was told to misplace while packing and the first of my father's direct orders that I ever disobeyed." You don't need to ask who the girl is referring to.

"Did you call her?" It comes out as a choked whimper that you detest even as you mentally count Dynasty's residual chances. Friendship, like everything, is earned.

"It doesn't matter. She changed her number, kept it unlisted so that she was disconnected from me, from the trouble I caused. I don't blame her, but I did call just to listen to the automated message, and sometimes I still get the urge to." The two of you walk out together and as you do, you muse, wondering if footsteps can be unabashed. You squeeze her fingertips, the ghost of a touch, just for a second or two. You feel sorry for Connor, but not sympathetic. The distinction is important.

**...**

"It's all in the past." You try to hold on to what you said to Connor, repeating it over and over again under your breath in an attempt to make it fit Dynasty's actions. You expect loyalty to be tested (they write novels about that kind of thing), but not painful. This connection that you have with the other girl, the best friend you've ever had, shouldn't leave you both raw. Why does every relationship you cultivate have a sting in the tale? You don't know what hurts more, that despite understanding, Dynasty didn't listen in this first place or that she so openly displayed her defiance. Using such a telling shade to deface Connor's locker is a vivid and precise siren call that leaves you more infuriated than anything else she has done. You want to let it go but you can't. Her choice of pink is undoing you. You can't breathe. Your head spins, dizzied by perfume that isn't there. She isn't behind you, worse luck. It's your locker that smells like that, of _her _and suddenly you cannot bring yourself to touch a single textbook or notepad. Coursework and curriculum be damned.

The boy bears the brunt a second time when he tries again to talk to you. "I wouldn't be able to believe anything you said, so what's the point?" It's obvious that he isn't the only subject of this outburst, although your audience appears blissfully clueless (thank goodness for small mercies). There is no satisfaction in witnessing Connor's bewilderment as you walk away though.

You find the person you really would like to talk to easily enough. Dynasty is adjusting her ponytail in the bathroom, and yet, the choice of setting is where the similarities to happy reconciliations end. You catch your reflection in the mirror, cementing that notion as a different girl materialises before you. This one is seething, shaking not with despair, but visible rage. You turn to the blonde, eyes obscured by a fringe that she has been nagging you to let her trim (it occurs to you that after this confrontation that a haircut will probably top the list of many things that you won't do as a pair anymore), hoping that the meaning is plain enough. You hold out the eyeliner pencil, not breathing, not daring to, in case words fall out and waiting for her to confirm her suspicions of your intent. She won't speak though, caught in your glare, so you go ahead. "I thought you'd like to leave a mark on me too, since we're all just pawns in your Barry Family power game!" you offer bitterly.

"It isn't like that-" To you, it seems to be playing out exactly like _that _so you cast Dynasty's lame protests aside. Your patience is running out. You want to scream about broken trust.

"Oh no?" The pencil waves perilously in your curled fists. "I've already dealt with Connor. You know how hard that was for me to do, but I did it, my way. This isn't your fight. I won't tell you again, stay out of it." If being the only one thinking clearly makes you unpopular, even with her, then so be it. You don't care. Some things, some _warnings_ in particular, need to be issued regardless of consequence. It's a chain reaction that you need to undo. Connor hurts you first, his motives unseen and largely misunderstood and you fly at her for reasons that you both pretend to be blind to, before ultimately she is the one that punishes him for that first evil. It's almost poetic.

"I can't!" To your ears, it sounds identical to _I won't. _You flinch. Everything is continuing to unfold as you dreaded. You sense the cogs in her mind turning, for all intensive purposes you can see every piece of her internal struggle, watching as the part of her that she rallies against wants to blurt out her truth, that maybe it _should_ happen that way, how much she believes Connor deserves it. Despite the repulsion that surfaces in the face of her inner darkness, you cannot help but admire her conviction, at least a little. She hasn't strayed from it once and that's both admirable and enviable given your own state of flux. Regardless, you are aware that you must force yourself to harden. It's vital. You have to remember that she is the one who is wrong. You aren't going to tell her again.

**...**

Frustration builds and you can't decide where to direct it first, towards Dynasty who avoids you all together or at Connor, in opposition, for constantly appearing at your side. Both of them have forced you to labour the point all day long and you cannot feel yourself snapping, having to repeat yourself ends up being the straw that breaks your back. "There is no us!" You're furious, each event seeming to pile up in a conspiracy against you. It's almost impossible to believe that he is offering you a scarf, how little he knows. In place of an olive branch it would be an albatross around your neck. Your irritation makes you spell out the reality of the situation, no matter how patronising it might sound. "You just don't get it do you, I've accepted what I look like, I'm comfortable with it. You only bought this to hide what you did to me, I'm living with it, and you have to, as well."

You don't regret saying those words until realisation hits that they might be your final ones. Connor could have died in that room, and although you've wished him gone, the reality is sobering. It rips through your stalemate with Dynasty too. At once you feel petty and nothing matters save for finding the other girl. You can't even enjoy a small smile at finding the bathroom (and all her other school time hang outs empty) because your ability to keep tabs on your friend has failed you at the epitome of bad timings. With a sinking feeling in your gut and consumed with frantic terror that she'll do something stupid to free her siblings, you begin to run. The only thing accomplished is a burning in your calves.

The answers, when they come, do nothing to prop you up, neither easing your mind nor restoring your confidence. Your head is already pounding with the beginnings of a tension headache before you cross paths with Liberty and you nearly don't question her at all. The sky falls in with every fearful suspicion she confirms.

"Stop!" It's inadequate, a tiny plea falling from your lips, you pray for a stronger barrier against the lighter flame, an aid against the mob mentality that pollutes the air from yards away. Your mind is screaming cruelly. _A scar for a scar, _and in that instant you forget that your voice has always been enough, that it's one of Dynasty's triggers. You believe you might need an army standing there. None of the choices are yours but still you try to sway the vote. What else can you do? "Leave him alone." You add frantically because although she's clicked her weapon shut, her gaze hasn't left Connor's face. Seeing the gleam in her eye makes your stomach church. You taste acid in your mouth.

"I'm doing this for you."

"I don't want revenge." There is no time for subtlety. An abyss exists between anger and retribution and you don't want either of you to fall in. Dynasty is on the edge and you're terrified. You wonder where the girl with the flowing curls went, the one with the make-up brush, the friend who didn't lie and taught you to like yourself more.

"For god sake, we weren't actually going to do it; I was just trying to scare him." Every piece of vocabulary you have ever stored abandons you. The pages of your personal glossary are mockingly empty. You lock eyes with her. Your heart beats but you can't hide behind that continuous safety. It isn't as reassuring as it should be.

Everybody else starts to slope away without their pound of flesh, her posse and Connor too. For a second you debate catching hold of Dynasty's arm and telling her that it wasn't just him that she scared, but you don't. The seconds are stretching out, but your fear hasn't ebbed and you're worried that if you react now, spurred on by it, there will be no coming back. The moment that started all of this, the harmless classroom scrap, is suddenly a world away from this one. Indeed it seems like a lifetime ago as you exhale, and yet feels like just yesterday as you fill your lungs again. You have no idea how that is even possible, but somehow it is. You try not to focus on the finality of this instant, how everything hinges upon what you do next and mostly how, it feels awfully like the precursor to a goodbye. At a loss, you kiss her lightly on the cheek and start walking.


End file.
